January 4, 2012


The sand is frozen solid. Instead of sinking in to it, feeling it cool or burn between my toes like I'm used to, I can almost skate on it. The frozen moisture molds it into alien shapes that would be impossible in the summer.

On colder, calmer days, the water pushed thousands of tiny icebergs towards the shore. They formed a slushy grey band around the bay that only got deeper and thicker and whiter while I was there.

Without all the green, the birch trees stand out in the woods. It's striking, the kind of scene that a smarter woman would've taken a black-and-white photograph of.

Everything is quiet. The myriad chirps and rustles and howls that mark warmer months are silenced under a thin blanket of snow.

You can almost feel nature taking a deep breath in preparation for what's to come - digging in its heels for another Michigan winter.